trials of longing
by morozova
Summary: This is what she wanted, she keeps telling herself. This is what she fought for, she argues. This is enough, she lies. [darkling/alina, mal/alina(implied), post R&R]


**YOU LEFT ME IN THE DARKNESS**

**SO DARKNESS I BECAME**

A quiet walk down the path twisting around the castle, she tells herself, is all she needs.

Away from the questioning eyes and tilted heads and the "_is everything alright?_" No, she doesn't need any of that right now. Not at all. What she needs, is the wind sifting through her open hair, shifting and moving on her back, the only movement in the growing twilight. She walks steady and silent (though her mind is nothing but) , in the shadows, her eyes aglow with a purpose she seemed to have lost long ago.

She doesn't know where she's going.

The night, it seems, is not her friend today. The moon shines brightly on her, making her pale skin glow starkly, the gems adorning her dress winking up at her, a constant reminder of the life she was steadily growing tired of: like an extra weight on every bone in her body, weighing her down, down, down, six feet under the ground till she's the weak, shuddering mass of bones she used to be.

She's sure _he_ likes her better this way.

Likes the way she takes a step back, towards him, every time a hint of fear runs through her, the way he feels she needs assistance with every step she takes or her knees themselves would drive themselves into the ground even though her mind _shouts_ "**i am better than this**."

She knows this isn't what she wants.

Not really.

She knows it when she wakes up in the morning to the same blue eyes. She feels them over her, on her, dragging her deeper and deeper, drowning every inch of her till she isn't aware of herself anymore.

Her heart constricts every time she tries accepting the fact that she doesn't want this water tainting her lungs, leaving her choking, unsure and unaware and _so helpless._

But she still remembers feeling dry and whole.

She still remembers

the first time

_**they**_

touched.

Each and every nerve _on fire_

heart rate out of control,

breath still

and silenced

and taut

and

almost

** d**,

scared to exhale lest she let the moment slip by, lest the few seconds managed to slide in to make this feeling come alive disappear, leaving her - and there's no other word for it, now that she thinks of it - _empty_. Sudden and plunging it engulfs her, at the smallest memory, the hint of the words, a hitch of a breath, and she's taken back to the same dark room, the same whispered words, the radiating heat and every hair that stood on the nape of her neck.

SHE'S GOING OUT OF HER_ M I N D._

He's what has her seeking dark closets, empty rooms, cold mornings, _solitude, _has her escaping in the middle of conversations, losing her train of thought, forgetting to always, always have a smile on her face.

She sleeps.

And sleeps. And sleeps. Her days slide into evenings, nights full of waking up in a heavy sweat, heaving as if she's ru 20 miles. Her dreams encompass her, leave her aching, breathless, covered in layers and layers that she still cannot manage to get out of. She's started living, striving off excuses and make believe, hiding behind her sickness, her weak, weak, weak soul. Her days are filled with _"I'd love to but this headache..." _and _"maybe some other time"_and she feels bad. She feels bad. She feels _awful_. But she can't stop.

Because they're always, _always, _about **him**.

Him.

Him.

Sometimes they're in flashes. Skin against skin, hot and feverish, her lips plump with the ragged, harsh, desperate kisses he seems to have too little of, each and every contact sending a spike of pure pleasure all over her body, leaving her hazy, gasping and she's falling into some state of mind she's been trying so hard to reach -

Until it's gone.

And all she's left with is the lack of air in her lungs, the impression of ghostly hands still on her waist and the heat that's threatening to consume her very being.

_But_

Sometimes her dreams are kind to her.

Sometimes she feels everything in hours, the minutes taking their own sweet time and every much awaited kiss lasts a century, glimpses of him turning into detailed studies as she drinks in every single blemish, every crevice on his face, every crinkle on the corner of his heavy lidded eyes. She keeps note of every strand of his dark hair, every glimmer of light that leaks into his ebony irises, memorizing the map of his face. She takes him out of the shadows till he, the boy turned monster, the one who set her alight and refuses to extinguish the flames, he is laid bare. He's never been more attractive to her.

Sometimes he speaks to her. Raspy whispers that seem to come straight from a heart left out too long too rust, the sound threatening to tip her over, over, over and out, till by the time she's awake all she feels inside is empty.

_Sometimes he catches her hand as it travels along his cheekbones, and pulls her forward till they're both falling down, down, down -_

Her dreams, it seems, have become her best friend, and her worst enemy.

* * *

**As you can see this is basically a prologue. I'm not planning anything long for this fic so there'll about 3-4 chapters more. xx **


End file.
